Fevered Dreams
by Stargazing BasketCase
Summary: A parcel without a sender. A meeting missed. And the outlaws are in trouble again. But this time the stakes are higher than they’ve ever been before. Sequel to ‘Unintended Consequences’.
1. Prologue: Wrong

Title: **Fevered Dreams**

Rating: T

Summary: A parcel without a sender. A meeting missed. And the outlaws are in trouble again. But this time the stakes are higher than they've ever been before. Sequel to 'Unintended Consequences'.

Disclaimer: Don't own.

I'm back! Thanks to everyone who reviewed the final chapter of 'Unintended Consequences' and encouraged a sequel: **robin and marion forever**, **ladyofthecelticland**, **Trinilee Greenleaf**, **The viEns of hIStorY**, **Gwen Beethoven II**, **jeps**, **robinsangel92**, **RixxiSpooks**, **Kates Master**, **domslove**, **Ash Light**, **scorpiagirl93**, **pixiespryte**, **MontyPythonFan**, **emerald owl**, **Starzangel**, **waltzing dace **and **water raven**. This is for all of you!

Just a warning - updates may well be sporadic. I have my Grade Six flute exam in a week, and then its the holidays after that and... Meh. Anyway. I will try!

And I _promise_ my beloved shadow-man will be making a comeback in this!

R&R is blessed to the Muse, and enjoy!

Fevered Dreams

_Prologue - Wrong_

Vaizey, slouched comfortably in his chair, flicked through a pile of letters, requests and papers. He picked up a particularly dense form to be filled in, regarded it with extreme distaste, and grumbled something rude and inaudible about paperwork.

With an irritated sigh he shoved the stack of work to one side and turned his attention to a parcel, wrapped tightly in brown paper, which was sat on his desk.

"Hmmm."

He quickly ripped the paper off the rectangular package and cast it to one side – revealing a leather-bound book and a crisply folded letter, sealed with a plain circle of crimson wax.

Leaning back in his chair, the Sheriff of Nottingham plucked the letter from the surface of the tome, scored under the wax with one neatly blackened fingernail and flipped it open.

As he skimmed the flowing script within, a slow smile spread across his lips, and his suddenly-alert gaze returned to the innocent-looking book, sat on his desk.

---------

"I thought she was supposed to be here by now." Robin was getting antsy. He tugged his hood further down over his face as he walked in front of the open window – this particular excursion to Nottingham was _not _with the express purpose of getting into trouble and annoying the Sheriff. Unfortunately. That would have been more fun that this… _waiting. _

Marian, swathed in a deep blue hooded cloak, glanced up at him with a smile. "She's a busy girl," she replied placatingly. "She'll be here."

Robin paced the closed confines of the backroom they were in impatiently. There was silence for a moment. "This is your fault, you know," he snapped, but there was no real malice behind his words. "If you hadn't joined us in Sherwood we'd still have an informer on the inside – now we have to wait for your 'contacts' to come to us!"

Marian smiled faintly. "Why, would you prefer I was still within the confines of society and on Gisborne's arm?"

Robin stopped his pacing and glared at her. "That's not fair," he reprimanded.

She just smiled sweetly at him.

He shook his head in despair and leaned against the wall. Avoiding her amused gaze, he glanced over at Will. The younger man was gazing out the window, his forehead furrowed. Robin felt the first stirrings of unease, and tensed. "Will?" he murmured, the other's name a question in disguise.

Scarlett didn't look at him: kept gazing out the window in consternation. "There are too many guards around," he replied quietly, and that single phrase slid an ice-cold shiver up Robin's spine.

He peered around the window frame and out – there was a rustle of fabric in the dimness and Marian joined them at the window. Will was right – the streets were _teeming_ with armoured guards, apparently just… hanging around.

"Something's not right," Will murmured.

"I agree," Robin replied. "We need to leave."

"What about Alice?" Marian asked, her forehead furrowed with worry for their young informer. "She'll worry when we aren't here."

"We'll leave a message with the shopkeeper," Robin answered softly. "Arrange for another meeting, same time next week." He shook his head slowly. "We can't stay here."

Marian nodded mutely, and the three of them slipped out through the front of the shop, hooded and cloaked. A few words were exchanged with the surprised trader, and they furtively crept out.

---------

Robin's heart was thudding; adrenaline buzzing through his veins.

He moved along behind Will and Marian, keeping to the shadows. All was going well; they were nearly to the gate of Nottingham, and back to safety.

The young outlaw shook his head slightly beneath his hood, chewing his lip with a mixture of fear and excitement. Will was right. Something was _definitely_ wrong.

But they were nearly out, and once they were safely back in the forest they could figure it out. And fix it, and then ride off into the trees as reigning heroes.

He smiled.

And then a hand roughly grasped his shoulder, hauling him back.

He wasn't expecting it, and they had him off guard. He stumbled. The hood was ripped from his head amidst sudden jeers of laughter and he was pushed to the ground. He thudded to the dirt.

All of a sudden, Robin of Locksley found himself on the ground with a sword at his throat.

"Well, well, well," a voice drawled above him. Guy of Gisborne hove into view, the beginnings of a victorious smile etched on his lips.

Every single muscle in Robin's body tensed. _Marian. _

Gisborne's smile blossomed into malicious fruitfulness. "What _do _we have here?"

---------


	2. Chapter 1: Opportunity

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

Oh, Gisborne is _such _a jerk… -strangles imaginary Gisborne-

Thank to everyone who reviewed the prologue: **robin and marion forever**, **Ash Light**, **pixiespryte**, **LiliacFleur**, **Starzangel**, **Kates Master**, **DeepBlueQL**, **MontyPythonFan**, **xclareBearx**, **scorpiagirl93 **and **RixxiSpooks**. Je vous aime!

Argh! What the hell am I doing? Writing?! I NEED TO PRACTISE FLUTE! Grade Six on Tuesday. I am scared.

R&R is blessed to the Muse, and enjoy...

Fevered Dreams

_1 - Opportunity_

Will stopped dead in his tracks the moment Gisborne's victorious and sickeningly triumphant tone rang out over the crowd. For the briefest of seconds he closed his eyes, hauling his anger and fear back into the little box he kept them in.

Right now, he needed calm.

Before Marian could react he grabbed her wrist and yanked her away from the disturbance – into the shadows. He was well aware that she'd do something… _stupid_, if he let her.

Confused, she frowned at him. "Wi—"

He cut her off with a hand across her lips. "Ssh." Scarlett glanced back up to the little tableau in the middle of the courtyard, and then back to Marian. _I can't let Gisborne get her. _

"Robin," he murmured simply, knowing she'd understand.

She did. Her eyes went wide.

---------

If there had happened to be anyone in that particular courtyard in Nottingham capable of some tiny vestige of telepathic ability they would have been nigh-on _deafened _by the frantic, panicked screams that rolled around in Robin of Locksley's racing mind.

And then, upon casting their startled gaze on the aforementioned outlaw, they would have thought they were completely mad – Robin's face, posture, entire _body_ reeked of calm and poise. Despite the fact that he flat on his back in the dirt, surrounded by a posse of heavily armed and armoured guards, with Guy of Gisborne's sword at his throat.

And, despite all that, he was grinning his head off.

The hypothetical mind-reader would have shook his head, and walked away. Quickly.

But back to Robin.

He shifted on the ground, still grinning lazily. He wasn't exactly happy – far from it. But he was happily smiling just to put Gisborne off.

Robin didn't like Gisborne.

And, as far as Robin knew, Gisborne didn't like him very much either.

So he grinned, as his mind raced.

_Keep his attention on _me.

Robin smiled happily up at Guy. "Fancy meeting you here!"

_Don't let him think the others are here. _

Guy affected a grimace that Robin guessed was supposed to be a smile. "Indeed." He adopted a thoughtful expression. "And what might the mighty Robin Hood be doing in Nottingham today?"

Robin shrugged – no mean feat, flat on his back. "Oh, you know. The usual."

_Give Will and Marian time to escape. _

Gisborne raised one eyebrow at him. "All alone?"

"Yeah," the outlaw sighed, but there was an underlying current of sudden tightness in his voice. "Just me, I'm afraid." Robin's smile abruptly lost all semblance of joviality it might have previously contained.

Gisborne noticed.

He raised one eyebrow at Robin. "You know what?"

A cold hand settled around the outlaw's heart, and squeezed. "What?" he asked, affecting a tight smirk.

"I don't believe you."

Robin's smile vanished.

"What do you plan to do about that?" he asked softly, dangerously – a wild beast backed into a corner, its pack threatened. "My men have most likely returned to Sherwood by now. They will be _beyond _your reach."

Gisborne's expression became mockingly attentive. "You really think so?" he asked softly, patronisingly. "Because I was of the opinion that you had instilled in your band of thieves strangely _noble _virtues – including the knightly ideal of never leaving a comrade behind."

Robin shifted. _Damnit. _His own principles had come full circle and bitten him quite thoroughly in the backside.

And Gisborne smiled. "Isn't that right?"

Robin didn't reply.

Gisborne shrugged. "Be like that."

And in one quick, sharp, fell movement, Robin was hauled to his knees, Gisborne behind him, and the razor-sharp edge of Guy's blade pressed dangerously close to his throat.

---------

_Robin! _

Marian fought to stop herself surging forward and flying at Gisborne in a fury. She saw red, and the memories of all the reasons she hated Gisborne with a passion rose back to the surface.

"Come out; come out, wherever you are!" Guy called into the sudden silence of the courtyard in a strangely sing-song voice – all activity had stopped to watch this spectacle; the peoples' hero, on his knees in the dust.

Marian looked over at Will, unruly emotions warring in her breast. _What do we do? _she mouthed to him.

His face was hard as stone – as hard as the axe that had suddenly appeared in his hand. _Wait, _he mouthed back, almost audible in the dead silence that blanketed the courtyard. Even the birds seemed to have stopped singing.

She knew Will was right, and that, in the unofficial pecking order of the outlaw gang, she was obliged to listen to him and obey him, to some extent. But… damnit! She never had been good at waiting.

Gisborne's voice cut through her thoughts once more, gravely and level once more. "I know you're there, my outlaw friends," he bit off. "Now _show yourself_, or Hood here—" He jerked his blade higher up, and Robin gasped in pain – deep crimson liquid made its presence known on his arched neck. "—gets it."

And Marian shook with barely-repressed fear.

---------

_Don't you dare do it, _Robin thought fiercely at his concealed friends. _Don't you dare. _

But he knew that they would, with impunity. It was something he himself had forcibly instilled in them since the beginning – these outlaws did _not _abandon their fellows to the enemy, no matter the cost.

And he had _had _to bring the pair with him to Nottingham that would follow those rules to the letter – Will, idealistic and follower of Robin's (almost) every word; Marian, who would _never _give up on him, for more reasons than one.

And as, true to his own internal predictions, Will and Marian emerged from the shadowy shelter of a nearby alleyway, Robin mentally kicked himself.

---------

Marian's heart was racing as she and Will were hustled towards Gisborne and Robin. She hadn't actually experienced this since she'd joined them – Nottingham had been quiet these last few weeks; the Sheriff still reeling from their escape and Robin's recovery.

And now she was.

She shivered.

She and Will were hauled up before Gisborne, who still held his sword to Robin's throat. His gaze was fixed on her, and she forced herself to give a disarming smile in response. "Guy," she greeted chirpily, as if she wasn't dressed in outlaw garb with her wrists lashed behind her back.

"Marian," he replied, as if in a daze. He thrust Robin to one side, into the waiting grasp of a castle guard, and stepped up to Marian. He towered above her, and she looked up, into his dark gaze. For the briefest instant there was something wondrous in his eyes – a marvelling expression that gave her the tiniest glimpse of the child that Guy of Gisborne had once been: naïve, happy.

But then it was gone, and the adult returned. His features became cold. "So now you show your true colours," he murmured angrily.

She smiled mildly, uncomfortably aware of the fact that his face was mere inches from hers. "These were my colours all along," she replied. "You just couldn't see them."

His lip curled, and he slapped her hard across the face. Her head jerked to the side, and she tasted blood.

To her left, Robin wrenched forward – nearly pulling free of the guards that held him. His murderous expression was fixed on Gisborne – an expression that was very nearly matched by the uncharacteristic thunder on Will's normally placid features.

Nearly. Robin looked about ready to tear Guy limb from limb.

Gisborne ignored the other two, and turned Marian's face to him with one gloved finger. "You will find that my _own_ colours have begun to show through now," he hissed, hot breath gusting onto her features. "And you will _not _like them."

"I have no doubt," she answered, lacing her voice with the wired sarcasm that she'd begun to pick up from Allan.

He laughed, and grabbed her chin firmly. "You always did have a sharp tongue," he bit off furiously. "Tell me," he continued in a whisper for her ears only. "Have you yet shared _his _bed?"

Startled and affronted, she tried to jerk away, but he held on, staring into her wide blue eyes.

"You are a lying _whore_," he hissed to her, enraged.

And he forced his lips onto hers.

---------

Vaizey barely looked up as Gisborne entered the room, his gaze intent on the nervous alchemist labouring at the circular workbench in the centre of the room. The Sheriff watched with an eager grin as the young man bent over a hissing bowl, his nose almost touching the mist that frothed over the brass edges.

"My lord."

Vaizey turned to Gisborne, arms folded. "Catch me some outlaws?" he asked, bored.

Gisborne nodded, the faintest hint of a victorious smile on his lips. "Aye, my lord."

The Sheriff suddenly noted that Guy's face was flushed. His interest was quite definitely piqued. "Anyone we know?" he asked, curious.

Guy smirked. "Locksley."

Vaizey clapped joyously. "_Locksley!_" He bounced on the spot. "This day just got better. How many men with him?"

Gisborne shifted. "One man—the carpenter—and Marian."

Vaizey paused. "Marian? _The _Marian?"

Guy nodded, a vaguely-lustful smirk hovering on his lips.

_That explains the flush then…_ "And is our dear Marian as to-the-point as ever?"

"Indeed she is."

"To be expected."

Vaizey began to smile as a new idea began to germinate in his twisted mind. "Well, well, Gisborne," he said slowly, "I believe we have just been delivered a golden opportunity."

"My lord?"

Vaizey smiled slowly. Maliciously. His gaze returned to the concoction his pet alchemist was mixing up, per the specifications of a leather-bound book from a mysterious benefactor. "We have tried and failed to kill Robin Hood many times," he mused. "Many, _many _times."

"Indeed we have," Gisborne grumbled.

Vaizey smirked. "But every man has a weakness. And I believe we may have just been given Hood's."

Guy frowned. "What do you mean?"

Vaizey turned to the knight, a devilish smile firmly planted on his lips. "What would you say to breaking Hood's heart?"

---------


	3. Chapter 2: Antagonism

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue. 

Meh. I dunno – not so keen on this chapter. But it wouldn't let me write it any other way...

Anyway. Thanks to my brilliant reviewers: **pixiespryte**, **The viEns oF hIStorY**, **Ash Light**, **domslove**, **Gwen Beethoven II**, **Kates Master**, **MontyPythonFan**, **DeepBlueQL**, **megaten1**, **scorpiagirl93**, **LialaSword**,** robin and marion forever**, **Starzangel**, **water raven**, **Lucy**, **xclareBearx**, **RixxiSpooks **and **jeps**. I love you all - and a special thank you to everyone who wished me luck with my exam!

R&R is blessed to the Muse, and enjoy!

Fevered Dreams

_2 - Antagonism_

A twig cracked beneath Much's foot.

He cursed beneath his breath and froze, keeping his gaze fixed on his elusive prey; a hungry hawk watching an unsuspecting mouse.

But his foe didn't move.

Much breathed a mental sigh of relief. He hadn't been noticed. Slowly, oh-so-slowly, he crept closer. He readied his weapon in his hands, ready to strike as soon as he got close enough. He would only get _one _chance, and this matter was too important to neglect. Nearly there…

He attacked.

There was a loud _splosh! _

Water, rancid fat, mud, pond scum, animal droppings and some funny purple stuff Much had found on John's coat that morning flew through the air and hit a solid, half-asleep object.

Allan a Dale, now covered in said mixture, jerked bolt upright and screamed like a little girl.

Much guffawed. "Revenge," he stated, hands on hips like a conquering lord, "is _sweet._"

---------

Marian touched her still-bleeding lip gingerly. "Gisborne was angrier than he used to be," she remarked.

Robin batted her fingers away from her mouth and studied the gash intently. "Really?" he commented flippantly. "I didn't notice."

She waved him away with a grimace, and he held his hands up in surrender. "Almost darker," she mused thoughtfully. "Broken."

"He's not _broken,_" Robin replied, crossing his arms and leaning nonchalantly against the bars of their cell. He smiled disarmingly. "Just jealous."

She shot him a glance that practically screamed "_you're just so full of it!"_

He just smiled, and turned to Will. "Any chance of us getting out?" he asked.

Scarlett straightened up from his inspection of the door. His face was solemn – he shook his head. "Not this time."

Robin bit his lip. "The others will realise we're missing soon," he said, his voice level and steady. The epitome of calm. "They'll come for us – we just need to wait."

"What if we get hanged in the meantime?" Will inquired. Marian shivered at his tone of voice – completely without sarcasm and with no trace of worry. "It's not exactly an unlikely possibility."

Robin shook his head thoughtfully. "I don't think so," he replied slowly. "I get the impression that if we were just a run-of-the-mill capture, Gisborne would have killed me out there in the courtyard."

_Very true, _Marian mused to herself.

"No," Robin continued. "Vaizey wants us for something."

"The Sheriff?" Will asked, mildly incredulous. "What would he want from _us_? I always got the impression he'd sooner hang us than anything else."

Robin's face was deadly solemn. He nodded. "That's what worries me."

---------

Djaq was fighting to keep a smile from her face. "That," she reprimanded Much, "was _not _funny."

"Yes it was."

"No it wasn't!" she shot back.

"Yes it was!"

"Wasn't!"

"Was!"

"Hey!" John interrupted, before the bickering two could get any further. "Quiet, will you?"

Two voices muttered a subdued, "Sorry John".

"Better," he allowed.

"It's Allan's fault _really_," Much started again, gesturing to Dale, who was fastidiously wiping slime from his cheek. "He did the same to me a few weeks ago." He smirked. "Revenge: as sweet as honeyed apples."

"I'm not bein' funny," Allan snapped, "but this ain't funny!"

"Neither was what _you _did to _me_."

"C'mon Much," John sighed. "That was _weeks _ago."

Much shook his head. "Revenge tastes like honeyed apples."

John rolled his eyes, and Djaq smirked.

---------

"Oh, my. Doesn't that just look _vicious._" The Sheriff rolled the tiny phial between his fingers, studying the inky black substance within – not quite liquid, not quite solid; somewhere in between. "You can just feel the malice…"

_Quite like me, actually, _he mused.

"Are you sure that you won't… chicken out?" Vaizey quizzed the silent Gisborne, stood behind him. He liked that phrase. A funny image of Guy with the wings, plumage, beak and feet of a chicken sprung to mind.

"I am sure, my lord," Guy said.

_Cluck, _went Chicken-Gisborne.

"Good." Vaizey pocketed the ominous-looking black slime. "Because I wouldn't be very pleased with you if you did, and wrecked my whole scheme."

"Yes, my lord," Guy answered, hands clasped behind his back.

"Well then." Vaizey smiled. "I want you to bring Marian and the boy up here," he ordered Gisborne. "Don't be gentle – knock them around. Play _nasty._"

"My lord?"

"I want Hood on edge," Vaizey replied, seating himself in his chair. "Antsy. Now, we're going to take away two of his little friends—his only friends here, in fact—and he's not going to like that. But I want him frothing at the mouth to get out. I want him going _mad _down there. Understand?"

Gisborne was smiling again; a dangerous smirk. "Perfectly."

Vaizey waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Go. Bring them here." He sat up and peered over the rim of the brass pot sat on the table to the rest of the dark sticky mixture.

"Oh, this is going to be _fun._"

---------

The door to the dungeons crashed open.

Robin glanced over as Gisborne and his thugs paraded in – he waved a cheery greeting. "Having a good day, Gisborne?" he asked.

"It's about to get better," Guy replied. The door to their cell was unlocked, and Gisborne gestured with one hand. "Out."

After a confirmatory glance at Robin, Will stepped out of their cage – he was immediately grabbed and half-flung across the dank room, the guards' laughter echoing in the gloomy space. The young outlaw hit the wall hard and hissed with pain.

Marian froze, just inside the doorway. Her eyes were wide and scared – Robin gently squeezed her hand. "I'm right here," he whispered.

Gisborne reached in and grabbed Marian, pulling her out. He sneered at her as he tossed her over to the armoured guards who already held Will – there were various jeers and catcalls as she was received.

Robin tensed and began to step forward, his gaze riveted to Marian.

The cell door slammed shut in his face.

He jerked around. "Gisborne?"

Guy smiled; a hint of darkness in his expression. "The Sheriff doesn't want _you,_" he replied. "Just your… friends."

The guards began to hustle Marian and Will away, towards the door. Robin grabbed hold of the bars of his cage as he heard another pained gasp from Scarlett, pressing himself against the metal. "Marian! Will!"

Too late – they were out of the dungeons, and beyond his sight. And his reach.

His gaze, and his anger, returned to Gisborne. "Take me," he bit off. "Let them _go._"

Gisborne tutted. "You haven't been listening," he admonished. "The Sheriff doesn't _want _you. He wants them."

"_Why?_"

Guy shrugged. "The Sheriff works in mysterious ways." And with that, he turned on his heel and marched out.

"Gisborne!" Robin yelled after him. "_Gisborne!_"

Guy, at the door, merely turned, and gave him a little wave. "I'll think of you," he called back, "when she is mine. In _every _sense."

Robin froze, and the door slammed shut, leaving him alone.

He was silent for a second; shellshocked. Just for a second.

"_Marian!_"

---------

"Frothing?" Vaizey asked offhandedly as Gisborne returned.

Gisborne smiled. "Absolutely."

"Good." Vaizey turned back to his captive—quite literally—audience. "Why, _hello _there," he greeted with a smile. "And how are we today?"

Neither spoke – just glared at him.

He narrowed his eyes at them. "Be that way." With a flourish he turned to Gisborne. "Now, where to begin?" He fished the tiny phial from his pocket and rolled it between his fingers. "I only want to use this on _one _of them…" He sighed. "Decisions, decisions…"

A sneer crossed Gisborne's lips. "You know _my_ recommendation, my lord."

"Indeed I do," Vaizey mused. "Indeed I do." He smirked and cackled with glee as he affixed his prisoners with a malicious glare. "Oh, this is going to be _very _fun."

---------


	4. Chapter 3: Torment

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

-bounces- He's back! Yay! So happy!

Thanks go to my beloved reviewers: **MontyPythonFan**, **RixxiSpooks**, **robin and marion forever**, **The viEns oF hIStorY**, **pixiespryte**, **Ash Light**, **Starzangel**, **Stormyrose**, **scorpiagirl93**, **robinsangel92**, **domslove**, **ViolaCoye**, **funkyfairygirl **and **LialaSword**. Thanks to you all, and especially to those of you who pointed out my dashes had gone missing :S I promise never to update in a rush again...

R&R is blessed to the Muse, and enjoy!

Fevered Dreams

_3 - Torment_

"They're late."

Djaq barely glanced up as Much spoke. "You know Robin," she replied uninterestedly. "He's always late. They are probably being chased by guards right now."

Much shook his head slowly. "But Marian's with them. She wouldn't letthem get into trouble, if there was anything she could do to stop it."

There was an unsubtle snort of laughter from John. "Come on Much! No one can stop _Robin_ getting into trouble."

"Yeah," Allan agreed, still miffed with Much. "So what if they're late?"

Much shook his head, still worried, but acquiesced to popular demand and sat down beside Djaq.

He was silent for a moment.

"Still—" he began.

"Much!" three voices cut over him.

He folded his arms and sulked, his concerns of a moment ago brushed to the back of his mind.

That might have been a mistake.

---------

Will could clearly see Marian's fear: it was written on her porcelain features in lines of fire. His muscles clenched as he was wrenched away from the newest member of the gang, his wrists firmly lashed behind his back. His gaze flickered to Vaizey, and hatred flooded through his mind.

The Sheriff seemed immune to Scarlett's blazing anger. "Right then," he started liltingly. "Let's get started on Project Hood."

_Project Hood? _Will asked himself, thoroughly amazed by Vaizey's flippant attitude. _What is he on? _

And then all thought was driven from his mind as the first blow of many drove into his back, knocking him to the cold floor in a sudden whirlwind of pain.

---------

Robin was going mad.

He paced furiously, his boots slapping on the hard ground of his cell – Will and Marian's imagined screams echoed in his mind with every step he took. Right now, at this moment in time, he hated Gisborne more than he ever had before in his life. And that was saying something.

The outlaw paused as the jailer's hoarsely amused chuckles reached his ears. The scrawny man had been watching him ever since Gisborne had left: Robin had ignored him.

But now he needed someone to speak to. Or, more accurately, someone to scream at.

"What?" he bit off sharply.

The jailer snickered once more, and straightened up. "Just watchin' you," he replied succinctly. "You're not as calm as your Saracen friend was." He shuddered slightly. "Creepy bugger."

Robin turned away from the man in disgust, struggling to keep his wild emotions in check – harder than it might appear, and all because of one person.

_Damnit. Why did I let her come along?! She complicates things – she _always_ does. _

But all the same he knew that he hadn't really had a choice in the matter – Marian could be… strong-willed, when she wanted to be. That was for sure. A smile made itself known on his face as his mind wandered through a tableau of happier memories.

And then it was dragged back to his current predicament, completely of its own volition, and the meagre beginnings of a smile vanished.

The jailer wandered up to stand just outside the cell, a set of rusty keys hanging from his belt, just out of reach. "Not so happy now are we?" he asked gratingly.

Robin didn't even look at him – just closed his eyes, and for the first time in a very long while, he prayed.

---------

"Will!"

The guards' grips on her tightened as she cried out – presumably to stop her bolting to the beleaguered Will's aid. Tears sparkled in Marian's gaze as the tiniest sounds of pain escaped Scarlett's tight-lipped silence.

She turned her fearful gaze to Vaizey. "Stop it! Let him go!"

But Vaizey merely clapped his hands together in glee. "Oh this feels _good._ Finally getting one up on Hood. _Very _good, indeed…"

"What did he ever do to you?" Marian tried to reason, her voice quavering as another pained moan was pummelled out of Will – she could see his face from the corner of her eye; his eyes were screwed shut and his lips were pressed into a thin white line. Blood glistened on his forehead. "Will never hurt you! Let him go!"

Vaizey rounded on her. "What did heever do to me?" he asked wondrously, as if he couldn't quite believe was she was asking. "What did _he _ever do to _me_? He, and his little gang of thieves _humiliated _me." He paused for emphasis. "In front of the entirety of Locksley village!" The Sheriff grimaced, and continued. "He and his little gang have been nothing but _annoyances_ ever since Hood returned from war." Vaizey sighed heavily. "Why couldn't he have stayed in the Holy Lands?" he moaned.

Marian forced herself to swallow her fear, even as it thrummed through her, as familiar and painful as the vibration of a bow-string in the aftermath of the release of an arrow. Her own emotions were of no consequence – fear was nothing.

There was a life in the balance.

"You are hurting him just to strike back at Robin," she asked lowly, every muscle in her body tensed.

"No," the Sheriff stated flatly, "I'm not."

Marian blinked. "But—"

"I'm not _just_ hurting him," Vaizey interrupted. "Notice the emphasis."

"Yes you are." She refused to reflect on the subtext of his words.

"Ah, you have me there," he allowed, his tone frighteningly akin to the condescending voice of a kindly old uncle. "I am only hurting him _at the moment._" Vaizey glanced over at Will. "Or _was_, at least."

A thud and a final moan from Will proved the validity of that statement. Marian, deer-eyed and frightened, jerked around to face him – the young outlaw was trembling on the ground, blood swirling from a gash on his forehead, eyes tightly shut. The two men who had been systematically and methodically beating him senseless moments before now stood by, features impassive.

Scarlett shook on the stones between them.

"Hmm, at this rate, he won't last long," Vaizey remarked offhandedly, disinterestedly watching the young outlaw as he quivered on the ground. "What a darn shame…"

Marian ignored his fatalist words, and forced fear away once more. "Let him _go_."

"And what do you offer in return?" Gisborne suddenly added. He'd been silent up until now – a leather-clad ghoul leaning against the rough stone of the walls, content to watch Marian's suffering.

"Nothing," Marian replied calmly, heart pounding. She knew what he was inferring – it was written in his terrifyingly intent gaze

Gisborne's eyes sparkled, and Marian couldn't quite draw her gaze away from him as he dragged his tongue across his lips. "Oh, I don't think you have _nothing _to bargain with."

Vaizey tutted and waved a hand between the pair, breaking the thread of unreturned lust and fear that had bound the pair for a split second. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "lust-struck idiot" as Marian looked quickly away from Guy – fixing her gaze anywhere but him. The Sheriff smiled down at her. "No Marian, I want your pretty body for something _other _than satisfying Gisborne's carnal desires."

There was a growl of protest from Will as the outlaw managed to haul himself halfway to his knees – Vaizey looked on with interest. "Persistent, isn't he?" he remarked to Guy.

"Remarkably so," Guy replied from behind Marian – she heard his footsteps on the flagstones as he slowly paced forward.

At a sign from the Sheriff a booted foot was driven into Will's ribs – hard.

He collapsed back to the ground and didn't move. He was still – _deathly _still.

Marian's eyes went wide. "Will!" she half-yelled.

"Oh _dear,_" the Sheriff observed dispassionately. "_That _doesn't look good." He sniffed and waved a hand dismissively. "Oh well." He returned his eagle-sharp gaze to Marian, and smiled. "Back to the matter at hand."

"But Will—"

"You're so boring!" Vaizey interrupted. "Will this, Will that… If I didn't know better, I'd say you liked Willie-boy more than Hood." He smirked. "Wouldn't the village gossips just _love _that…"

"My lord." Gisborne gently nudged the Sheriff back on track.

"Oh yes. Where was I?" Vaizey raised the phial in his hand. "Ah, yes. I remember."

Marian was abruptly wrenched down into a chair and her wrists were swiftly bound to the arms. She struggled, but couldn't move.

_Oh God. _

Gisborne, fingers encased in leather gloves, took hold of her head and forced it back. Her nose was pinched between his fingers as she pressed her lips together, and she felt air slowly seep out of her lungs.

Her eyes were wide as Vaizey tugged the tiny stopper free from the bottle. "Hold her still, Gisborne," he instructed slowly, his gaze remaining on the phial. "Hold her still."

_Oh God, no. _

She began to struggle crazily, fear taking over. Her gaze flickered to Will—_Will's body_—still lying motionless between the two brutes; still as the grave. _He can't be dead. He can't be. _

_Because if Will's already dead, then I'm next. _

Vaizey's fingers joined Gisborne's on her face, forcing her lips apart. She gulped in a lungful of air as quickly as possible, but Vaizey was faster. Black liquid was poured into her mouth and the Sheriff's hand clamped over her lips, forcing her to swallow, choke or suffocate.

She felt herself growing faint as she refused to breathe, and her body's instincts kicked in, overriding conscious thought. _Live_, her body whispered – she swallowed.

Vaizey released her with a laugh, and Gisborne with a victorious smile. "Well then," the Sheriff said conversationally, still rolling the empty phial between his fingers. "Let's see what happens now."

Marian tasted blood.

---------

And outside, in the courtyard, in the bright sunshine and brisk autumn air, a shadow that had heard and seen more than it wanted to—a shadow in the shape of a person—flitted silently across the ground.

---------


	5. Chapter 4: Falsehoods

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers: **Starzangel**, **RixxiSpooks**, **Ash Light**, **domslove**, **robin and marion forever**, **pixiespryte**, **funkyfairygirl**, **MontyPythonFan**, **jeps**, **scorpiagirl93**, **KABM**, **LialaSword**, **finned marine being**, **Emma Sinclair**, **kenshinroks2111**, **basketball whiz**, **Lucy**, **LiliacFleur **and **ShiZZle**. I love you all!

R&R is blessed to the Muse, and enjoy!

Fevered Dreams

_4 - Falsehoods_

The door to the dungeons crashed open, and Robin jumped up. He'd been sat on the rough wood bench thoughtfully provided by their captors, trying not to dwell on what _exactly _was going on a few floors up.

Two steps took him to the bars of the cell, and he stared out, searching the dimness.

Gisborne materialised, a victorious smirk on his features. "Hello again," he greeted. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Where are they?" Robin demanded, his hands curled tightly around the bars that separated him from his enemy – his knuckles were bone-white. "What have you done to them?!"

Gisborne glanced back and beckoned the guards who lurked beside the doorway forward with a twitch of his head. They complied, and dragged Will and Marian forward.

_Oh God. _

For once in his life, Robin was speechless.

---------

John glanced up at the sun, and frowned in consternation. "I think Much may have been right," he growled.

Allan glanced up. "John?"

"It's mid-afternoon, and they're still not back," John replied. "No one's never been this late before – not even Robin."

"You sure?"

John sighed at Allan's tenacity. "All they were doing was meeting a contact." He shook his head, worry in his eyes. "That doesn't take this long."

Djaq nodded slowly, sick understanding beginning to dawn. "I fear you may be correct."

Much sighed. "What has Robin done _now_?" he moaned.

John smirked, just slightly, and hefted his staff. "We _go_ to Nottingham," he ordered.

---------

Robin caught Will as the battered outlaw was contemptuously dumped back in their cell. He lowered his friend to the stone floor, studiously ignoring his injuries, but his hands still shook as he felt gently at Will's bloody neck for the throb of a pulse.

And he visibly sagged when he found it.

"Is he…?" Marian's voice was soft and fearful.

"He's alive," Robin answer, relief flooding his body.

A derisive snort from Gisborne drew the pair's attention. "Hopefully _that _won't last long," he commented. He slammed the cell door shut and locked it, his gaze never leaving Robin and Marian. A smirk crossed his features. "I'll be seeing you later," he whispered, and turned on his heel in a whirl of black leather.

The door crashed shut, and they were left in silence.

---------

Robin gently peeled back Will's shirt, wincing at the livid bruises that marred the younger man's skin. "He needs Djaq," Hood murmured.

Marian nodded in agreement. "And soon."

Robin ran a hand through his hair. "Why did the Sheriff _do _this?" he asked, voice full of anger and pain.

"To hurt you."

He started. "What?"

Marian was shaking, and she couldn't look at him – he gaze remained fixed on Will as she spoke. "He said so," she replied quietly. "That he was doing all of this just to hurt you."

Robin sighed tightly, carding his fingers through his already-mussed hair. "We need to get out of here," he murmured. "If the Sheriff and Gisborne return for you and Will…" He shook his head, unable to put his fears into words. "I can't let them take you."

She smiled emptily, and slipped her hand into his. They held onto each other in the chill darkness of their cell, and waited.

There was nothing else they could do.

---------

There was a swish of leaves in the trees, and Allan glanced up, frowning. He stopped, feet tilted to gain his balance on the muddy slope the gang were trekking up, and glared at the sky.

"Allan!" John called, his tone long-suffering, from the lip of the incline. "Come _on_!"

Allan turned to face his companions, who were all looking down at him reprovingly by now. "I'm not bein' funny," he replied, "but I swear there's someone else here."

John sighed. "Now is not the time," he reprimanded.

"I'm not jokin'!" Allan replied indignantly.

Djaq shook her head at him. "Allan…"

"Stop lookin' at me like that!"

"I know what you mean," Much cut in.

"You do?" Three words were spoken by three equally-startled voices.

"Yes." Much straightened up, his gaze flickering momentarily around the forest. "A shadow in the trees."

A shiver ran its delicate fingers down Allan's back. "Yeah," he replied softly. "Somethin' like that."

Much looked up, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Who are you?" he called to the empty forest. Normally such an act would have earned him relentless teasing at the hands of his comrades, but now they could feel it – a shiver of apprehension that wound its way into their very bones.

There _was _someone else here.

---------

Vaizey was leant over his desk when Guy entered, poring over a leather-bound book. "My lord?" Gisborne ventured.

"Ah, yes, Gisborne." Vaizey slammed the tome shut and rose to his sandaled feet. "How are our dear outlaws doing then?"

"Hood and Marian are suitably… worried, and I believe the boy is unlikely to last the night," Gisborne replied, trying and failing to keep a victorious smirk from his lips.

"Yes, yes, but what about Marian's _state_?" Vaizey demanded, rolling an empty glass phial between his fingers. "Is she delirious? Hallucinating? Exhibiting signs of turning into a werewolf?"

Gisborne frowned, and not at the Sheriff's interesting list of ailments. "Nothing, my lord."

Vaizey blinked. "What do you mean, 'nothing'?" he demanded, striding around his desk to stand toe-to-toe with Guy. "There has to be _something_."

Guy shook his head reluctantly. "There have been no ill effects," he replied in irritation.

"Hmm." Vaizey thought. "Maybe it is merely a case of waiting!" he chirped. "Yes, that'll be it. We just have to wait."

"For how long?" Gisborne asked quickly. "The longer we hold Hood and his fellows the more likely it is the rest of them will come to the castle to try and rescue them."

Vaizey waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, that's taken care of. Mulch-whatever-his-name-is and the rest of Hood's little gang won't be bothering us any time soon. I made sure of that."

Guy frowned. "May I ask how?"

"No you may not," Vaizey replied absently. "Now go torment Hood a little more."

Gisborne smiled, putting thoughts of the Sheriff's penchant for dramatics to the back of his mind, and nodded. "With pleasure."

---------

Much blinked in surprise. "Not _quite _who I was expecting," he remarked.

The girl who'd just slunk out guiltily from behind a tree avoided his gaze, her hands twisting in her skirt.

Allan folded his arms and attempted to look intimidating. "Who are you then?" he demanded.

"Alice," the girl muttered, studying the mud around her feet.

"Alice?" Much asked. "As in, Marian's friend Alice?"

Alice nodded shyly.

"As in our informer?" Djaq asked Much, and he nodded. Dread flooded her gaze.

"What has happened to them?" Much asked the girl, fear and worry threading through his voice. "Where are they?"

She glanced up for the first time, locking a startlingly blue gaze on the outlaws. "Gisborne captured them," she whispered, her shoulders hunched.

They froze.

"How long ago?" Much demanded.

Alice dropped her gaze again. "This morning," she murmured.

Djaq's eyes were wide. "They will be hanged," she said softly.

Much nodded slowly. "We need to get them out." He turned back to Alice. "Do you know anything else? Where'd they're being held, when they're going to be hanged…"

Alice shook her head slightly. "Nothing like that," she murmured.

Allan hissed in disappointment.

"But," the girl continued in the same subdued whisper, "the Sheriff did say that he was tripling the guard around the castle and all the entrances to Nottingham."

"He knew we'd come," John muttered.

"Looks like it's in through the rubbish again," Allan offered brightly. There was a collective moan.

"We'd better get going," Much countered. "We don't know how much time they have left." He turned to Alice. "Will you be alright?"

She nodded mutely, once more avoiding his gaze.

"Okay then," Much said. "Let's go!" And they were off, running like spirits on the wind through Sherwood.

Alice, left on her own in the middle of the forest, suddenly smiled. Her back straightened and she tossed dark hair out of her eyes, and she stared after the running outlaws with disdain in her startlingly blue eyes. "Fools," she commented uncaringly, and Alice-who-wasn't-quite-Alice set off after those she'd just quite thoroughly tricked.

---------


	6. Chapter 5: Guards

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

SORRY! SORRY! I'm so sorry for my over a month long halt in updates! First the _computer _buggered up, then I got addicted to the X-Files, then the _Muse_ buggered off to the Bahamas!

-annoyed-

But, fingers crossed, she's back now, and I will hopefully get back into the swing of things. (Note to self – no matter how cute Mulder and Scully are, must _not _neglect readers! -hits self in head-)

And thank you to all my reviewers for the last chapter: **robin and marion forever**, **domslove**, **The viEns of hIStorY**, **Starzangel**, **robinsangel92**, **THEhurryupperperson**, **MontyPythonFan**, **scorpiagirl93**, **astorma**, **Ash Light**, **butterflygoodbye**, **inflatabletigers**, **Lucy**, **Vanityfair**, **ShiZZle**, **The Insulin Vampire**, **A-Heart-Of-Gold**, **Jess **and **Lucy **(again?). Anyway. Thank you all, for sticking with me so far, through update delays and evil cliffhangers!

R&R will hopefully keep the Muse working hard, and enjoy!

Fevered Dreams

_5 - Guards_

They were arrayed in the foliage just outside Nottingham town, surveying the fortified walls and guarded gate was ferocious intensity. Much, always the worrier, chewed his lip in consternation. "How are we going to get in _now_?" he asked softly, his voice carrying on the gentle wind to his fellow outlaws.

Djaq shook her head fearfully. "There are too many guards for us to get past unnoticed," she replied, her voice equally as soft.

"Diversion?" Allan suggested succinctly.

Much nodded in reluctant agreement, but John shook his head forcefully. "No."

"How else are we supposed to get in?" Djaq hissed at the resident giant. "There is no way we will get past the _gates_, not with this amount of guards!"

"We can't split ourselves," John bit off right back at her. "It's bad enough going to Nottingham when there are _seven _of us. And, right now, we have _four._" He ran his burning stare over his three companions, daring them to challenge him. "We stick together."

Much was the first to acquiesce, not that anyone was terribly surprised by this. "He's right," he sighed.

"But then how are we going to get in?" Djaq demanded, fire enough to match John in her voice. "We _cannot _leave them in there!"

Allan shot her a glance, and his lips twitched upward in amused speculation. _Wonder why she's quite so worked up? _he quizzed himself. The tiny lip-quirk blossomed into a full grown patented Dale-Smirk, despite their predicament. But the only witticism he offered was, "She's right."

"And we don't know what the Sheriff is doing to them in there," Much added softly, touching on the heart of exactly why they were all so worried.

There was silence for a frozen moment.

John sighed. "Rubbish chute it is then."

---------

There was a sharp creak as the doorway to the dungeons was pushed gently ajar, and a second shrill moan echoed in the stillness of the cells as the same timber entranceway shrieked shut. The jailer, stringy locks tied in a greasy bundle at the nape of his neck, looked up from his almost-evening bowl of thin gruel. "Who is it?" he rasped, horn spoon halfway to his lips.

The next thing said jailer saw was the stone floor coming up fast to say hello.

And, at their captor's subdued squeak of pain, Robin looked up. His forehead furrowed with curiosity, he rose to his feet, leaving Marian beside Will. "Hello?" he called tentatively, fingers reflexively twitching by his hip. _Where's a sword when you need one?! _he groused.

There was a soft chuckle from the shadows, and any flippant mental comment about the absence of a weapon fled from Hood's mind.

_It's him. _

"My, my," that same voice commented. "You _do _get yourself into the stickiest of situations, now, don't you?"

Robin scanned the darkness. "It's you."

"It's me."

"Robin?"

He glanced down at Marian's bewildered utterance of his name. She didn't recognise the voice—the voice of the man who had saved them all, those few weeks ago—but then again she hadn't had that overwhelming sense of familiarity the _first _time she'd spoken with this elusive shadow-assassin. "The shadow-man," he murmured down to her, and she couldn't quite stop her blue eyes widening in shock.

The dingy air of the dungeons swirled briefly, and promptly took on the shape of a man. The shadow-man nodded briefly in greeting, and then produced an object that drew both of their attentions – a dully gleaming brass key. With a soft chuckle he reached through the bars, extending freedom to them. Robin reached out and grasped the metal with two fingers, holding it as though it would break any moment. "I think you may need this," the shadow-man said softly.

Robin wrapped his fingers more securely around the key, and then looked up at their shadowy acquaintance. "Who are you?" he asked simply, the merest hint of a plaintive murmur in his voice.

The shadow-man paused. "A friend," he replied at length. "A watcher. A guard of justice, much like yourself."

Scepticism brushed Robin's tired features. "Strange sense of justice," he remarked.

"Everyone makes mistakes," was the shadow's only reply, but Robin felt a certain guilt in the gaze that their rescuer transferred to Marian, who merely looked back in silence. "And everyone pays for those mistakes, sooner or later."

"But who _are _you?"

The outlaw felt it as the shadow's gaze moved back to him. "_Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?, _Robin," the ethereal figure that Hood couldn't quite place murmured. "That is who I am."

And he was gone – the dungeon door opened and closed once more.

Marian rose to her feet, her gaze fixed on Robin as he stood there, motionless, brass key hanging limp in his hand. "What did he say?" she asked softly, her voice loud in the once-again silent dungeon.

"It's Latin," Robin replied thoughtfully. " 'Who guards the guards?' " He looked over at her, forehead creased in thought. "What did he mean by that?"

Marian shook her head slowly. "I don't know, Robin," she answered. "But we can think about it later. We need to get Will out of here."

And after a second more, the outlaw nodded his agreement, and they fled, leaving the brass key gleaming dully on the stone floor.

---------

"God hates me," Much mumbled under his breath as they trudged up the mountain of sewage to their only currently feasible entrance. "_Really _hates me."

Djaq, behind him, snorted her amusement.

Much declined to fend her off. Just this once. He didn't think he could quite stand for relentless teasing, a missing master and stinking of rubbish in the same day.

John and Allan were already beneath the smelly black hole. "Who wants to go first?" John asked brightly, looking pointedly at Much.

In turn, Much looked pointedly at Djaq, who looked pointedly at Allan. Then _everybody _looked pointedly at Allan.

Allan himself just looked plaintive.

---------

The walls of the castle were plenty shadowy enough for him to slip about unnoticed, the shadow-man reflected. He was glad of it, too – ever since the capture of the trio of outlaws the Sheriff had tripled security at least. The shadows were where he worked best.

Without so much as a whisper of protest from the guards on duty, he slipped around the door of the Sheriff's office, stifling a laugh at the blatant incompetence of Vaizey's crack staff. _No wonder Hood has such a disregard for them, _he reflected. _They're not exactly hard to get past… _

He shook his head silently and refocused on the matter at hand.

He'd been keeping an eye on the inhabitants of Nottingham Castle for a while now – ever since the nearly-disastrous events at the time of the death of Edward of Knighton. Vaizey and Gisborne were a little too ferocious towards the shadow-man's adopted charges for his liking, so he watched them. And it _hadn't _slipped his notice when a mysterious parcel had arrived on the Sheriff's desk; a parcel that, as far as he'd been able to find out, hadn't been sent.

The shadow-man had had his fair share of mystery and intrigue in his time, and he had enough experience to get a familiar sick feeling in his stomach when he'd first heard about the Sheriff's unexpected gift.

So here he was. He moved through Vaizey's papers and possessions quickly, searching for any out-of-place, out of the ordinary. He moved silently, dispassionately – like a ghost.

He smirked, beneath his mask and beneath his darkness.

Not quite like a ghost.

_Like a shadow_.

---------

John linked his fingers into a cradle and looked warningly at Allan. "Either I shove you up, or I throw you up!" he retorted cheerfully.

Grumbling, Allan lifted his foot. "I'll get you for this," he hissed.

"As long as we get the others out, I'll take whatever you want to dish out," Much replied softly, bringing the smiling others back to the reality of exactly _why _they were shoving a protesting Allan up a rubbish chute.

As if summoned by Much's solemn words, there was a sudden commotion out in the main courtyard; guards shouting, the frantic whinnying of a pair of startled horses and a familiar voice, yelling and laughing.

Allan punched the air with a quiet and substantially relieved "_Yes!_"

Much just rolled his eyes at his master's penchant for trouble.

---------

Robin wasn't having fun. Honest.

He was being serious and focused – after all, Will Scarlett—his faithful comrade and friend—was slumped unconscious between his arms and Marian—the love of his life—was riding on her own filched steed beside him, and they were _all _in danger. So, therefore, he _wasn't _having fun.

He wasn't whooping because he was having fun.

Honest.

With skill born of a thousand skirmishes in the Holy Lands he dodged and weaved around the multitudes of metal-clad guards who swarmed through the courtyard. They swiped ineffectually at him and Will as the chestnut stallion between his thighs snorted and pranced – and Robin of Locksley laughed.

"Master!"

Robin looked up sharply at the familiar exasperated tone in Much's voice. "Much!" he called back, over the clamour of peasants, guards and animals.

"Can we _go _now?"

It never failed to surprise Robin how petulant Much could sound when he really wanted to. Snickering, body soaring amongst the clouds on a boost of adrenaline and fear, Robin called out to Marian. He felt rather than saw her roll her eyes at him.

And the pair of them galloped out, leaping clear over the hasty barrier the castle guards had erected, the rest of the gang in tow.

---------

Much fully expected Robin to still be cackling by the time those on foot had made it back to their camp – his master was like that sometimes. And he _also _fully expected Robin to be happy (and slightly hyperactive) for the next few days. But what he most definitely _wasn't _expecting was the panicked and fearful tenseness that had overtaken the camp.

Robin and Marian barely looked up as the rest of the gang came crashing home, and neither of them wasted any time of greetings either. "Djaq!" they called in unison, bent intently over.

Much abruptly felt sick as he saw who held their attention.

Behind him, Djaq gasped in shock. "Will," she breathed, before sprinting to the wounded outlaw's side, pushing Robin out of the way.

"What _happened?_" Much asked hoarsely, gaze fixed on Will's bloody form.

"The Sheriff happened," Robin replied tersely, his arms crossed.

"And Gisborne happened," Marian added, rising from her position beside Will and letting Djaq tend to him. She and Robin exchanged a worried glance.

No one else spoke – everyone's attention was fixed on Djaq and Will.

Minutes later, after the silence had very nearly stretched into an eternity, Djaq sat back on her heels, a heavy sigh of joyous relief on her lips. "He will be fine," she stated into the tenseness of the camp.

"Oh thank God," Robin breathed, passing his hand across his eyes and through his hair. "I thought…" His voice faltered, and Marian slipped her hand into his.

"I know," she said simply, watching him intently.

He smiled radiantly in return.

"Wait." John's single syllable cut through the relief that had abruptly flooded the clearing, and everyone turned to the man mountain. "Where's Allan?"

Horrified silence greeted his statement.

"If he's not here…" Marian ventured.

"They must have caught him at the castle!" Much completed, fear and worry twisted together in his voice.

Robin shook his head slowly. "And the Sheriff is _not _going to be happy when he finds out that we've escaped…" he murmured into the terrified stillness of the gang.

"He is going to make Allan suffer." Djaq's quiet voice wasn't questioning Robin's words. She knew. They _all _knew.

"Oh God," Robin murmured, in a vicious parody of those words he'd uttered mere moments ago in virulent relief. "We have to go back. And fast."

There were no murmurs of relief, no nods of agreement. Not now. The gang was wound tighter than a spring that had just passed breaking point and there was no room for extraneous words.

Robin nodded slowly, about to speak.

And then Marian collapsed in a heap, her eyes rolling back in her head and a pained moan falling from her blue-tinged lips.

---------


	7. Chapter 6: Terror

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

-headdesk- Damn it! I am trying to update regularly, but my _brain will not co-operate! _Argh! I'm so annoyed with myself for leaving it this long - I'm so cruel to you guys. I really am sorry.

Goddamn Scotland. And exams. And the X-Files. Grrr.

Anyway. Thank you to all my blessed reviewers: **robin and marion forever**, **Ash Light**, **RixxiSpooks**, **scorpiagirl93**, **Nicki1147**, **MontyPythonFan**, **lucytiger**, **domslove**, **butterflygoodbye**, **Dr. Nat**, **pixiespryte**, **anonymous**, **LialaSword**, **flame rising hater**, **leeleigh**, **Starzangel**, **herbblade**, **Dyrne-Faemne**, **sam**, **The Strange and Anonymous**, **--friendly-lunatic-- **and **dette528**. I love you all! And thank you for reviewing (again), despite my lousy update speed!

Enjoy!

Fevered Dreams

_6 - Terror_

Much had known Robin of Locksley for a long time—years even—and he'd done a lot of terrifying things with his one-time master in those long years. They'd fought together, laughed together, grieved together… All the things that friends do – together.

But _never _had Much seen such panic on Robin's face as he did right at that moment, as Robin stared down at Lady Marian, crumpled in a broken heap at his feet.

And then, a fraction of a second later, Robin was on his knees beside her, pulling her into his arms, feral terror scrawled through his gaze. There was no scream of her name on his lips – no cry of anguish at _why_ she had just collapsed to the ground in a boneless heap.

Just one outlaw, on his knees, crushing his love to his chest with naked terror in his eyes.

---------

The shadow-man had barely been sneaking around the Sheriff's chambers for two minutes when he found it – a fat, worn, leather-bound tome, tucked in haste into a side cabinet.

He chucked as he fished it out of its dark enclosure – to an onlooker, it would look as though the book had just lifted itself out and vanished, cloaked in shadow. _You don't look after your toys very well, do you Vaizey? _he mused to himself. He smirked, the expression hidden from the world behind his mask. _All the better for me and mine._

A strange shiver ran up his spine as he considered both the metaphorical treasure-chest of secrets under his arm, and his next move in the delicate chess-match that was his life. Leather-clad fingers flexed around leather-bound pages, and he pounced up silently to the open window, leaning out into the autumn air, considering.

And leaped.

He hung in the air for the briefest of seconds, before gracefully slipping through the atmosphere to land—and roll—onto the stone-strewn ground. He winced as a particularly obnoxious specimen of rock poked him in the calf as he slipped back to the shadows.

_I'm getting old, _he mused as the final twinges of sudden pain chased each other from his surprised muscle. _And careless. _

He dismissed the thought and slipped away.

Minutes later he was seated in the dark corner of a store-room, door closed and bolted, with a hemp cloth thrown across the only window – shadow or not, he was no sloppy worker. The shadow-man rested the book on his knees, and studied the cover intently: it was his first chance to do so. His fingers gently traced strange figures that were pressed into the leather, just beside the spine. They were subtle markings, and someone who didn't know what they were looking for—like Vaizey—would have dismissed them as mere pressure marks in the hide.

But the shadow-man _did_ know what he was looking for.

There'd been rumours abounding through the countryside of this book – a book that contained secrets that could not possibly be the work of man. It had been passed from noble to noble for a year now, with death following in its wake. Rumour had it, this book was from the Holy Land, sent back by the King.

He touched the figures once more. "Arabic." The word fell from his lips in a whisper, defying the cautions of his mind to break the stillness of this air.

—_there's blood on his hands and in his head and they're coming at him and oh god oh god why won't it just stop he wants to go home—_

The shadow-man blinked away the memories and gently opened the cover of the book.

---------

"What do you _mean, _they got away?!" The Sheriff was livid.

"My lord, if you would let me explain—" Gisborne's protests were cut off as Vaizey continued to talk right across him.

"We had three of Hood's merry little band—including Hood himself!—locked up in the castle dungeons, one of whom was quite badly _injured_, and one who had just ingested a substance that I am _very_ eager to see the affect of, and they just _walked_ _out_?! With two of my best horses! And no! I will _not _let you explain!" Vaizey finally ran out of puff, and settled for just glaring furiously at Guy. "Pah!"

Despite the Sheriff's outrage, Gisborne could not quite suppress a tiny smirk. "My lord, they did not _all _get away."

Vaizey's ears pricked up. "What?"

Gisborne jerked his head at one of the mailed guards who lurked by the door. The guard nodded his understanding and disappeared out into the corridor. "My men caught this one, while the others… escaped." His voice dropped on that last word, but fortunately Vaizey didn't seem to notice.

On the other hand, he looked quite gleeful. "Bring him in!"

Right on cue, the guard reappeared, dragging a shackled captive behind him. A firm shove between the outlaw's shoulderblades sent him stumbling forward and crashing to his knees between Guy and the Sheriff.

The aforementioned pair exchanged a look over their prisoner's head. "Well, Gisborne," the Sheriff said tartly, "you might not have _completely _messed this up after all."

Guy offered a grimace that was supposed to be a smile.

---------

Allan shifted uncomfortably. The stone-flagged floor was murder on his knees, but he couldn't very well just get up, plonk himself down in that comfortable-looking chair just over beside the desk and make himself at home. This was _Nottingham Castle_, not Sherwood Forest.

And the man stood before him was certainly no Robin Hood.

"What do we have here then?" the Sheriff murmured, beginning to stalk in a tight circle around Dale.

Allan studied his captor, considering what approach to take. This was a sticky situation alright, and he figured that the only reason he wasn't food for the crows right now was that he'd come with Robin Hood – the bad guys wanted information. His fists clenched behind his back as he replayed in his head the briefest glance he'd got of Will, sitting limp between Robin's arms as the outlaw sent a _very _fine horse soaring over the guards' pathetic barricade.

His best friend had looked like hell.

Right then, with that memory still in hand, Allan decided the best approach would be to irritate the Sheriff to insanity. The DaleSmirk made a reappearance. _Good thing I'm here then, _he thought wryly.

Ignoring Vaizey's query, he studied the Sheriff's feet, and made a succinct observation.

"What sort of a man wears _silk_ _slippers_?"

---------

The stunned quiet of a moment ago had passed, and had left a maelstrom in its wake.

Djaq scrambled away from Will, leaving John the only one beside the young outlaw, and pulled Marian from Robin, lying her down on her patchy grass. With deft fingers—a physician's fingers—she ran her gaze over Marian, and fear was kindled in her gaze.

"Djaq?" Much asked, his voice half an octave higher than normal.

Djaq gently pulled Marian's eyelids open, and studied the unconscious woman's eyes. She muttered something in her native tongue that was barely audible and definitely obscene. Her fingers sought Marian's hand, pulling it from Robin's tight grasp, and the Saracen woman's mouth tightened into a thin line.

Robin finally managed to pull himself together enough to get a coherent sentence out. "What is it?"

Djaq wordlessly turned Marian's hand over to him, and Robin's eyes widened as he saw it too – an unhealthy-looking darkening of the soft flesh at Marian's fingertips. "It will be the same in her feet," Djaq informed him, her voice clinical. "And unless we can find something to stop this, it will spread."

Robin's fingers once more tightened around Marian's hand, and he drew it up to his lips. "What can we do?" he asked tightly.

Djaq shook her head slowly. "I do not know," she admitted. "Keep her warm, and comfortable. And pray."

Robin closed his eyes tightly, pressing a last, fierce kiss to the back of Marian's hand before letting it slip from his grasp. He stood. "But we have to go back to Nottingham," he husked. "We have to find Allan."

Much started. "Robin… Stay here."

Robin shook his head tightly. "No. I have to go."

John rose from his place at Will's side. "Much is right," he said to Robin. "You're not thinking straight."

"No," Robin admitted, his gaze fixed on Marian. "I'm not."

"Stay here, and her Djaq look after them," Much urged.

"_No._" Their leader tore his eyes away from Marian, and turned his fierce gaze onto Much. "I have to do _something._"

Djaq, Much and John exchanged a charged look.

"You're a liability," John said finally.

"I know." And he was gone, an avenging spirit slipping off into the darkening forest.

John sighed. "Stay here," he said to Much. "Help Djaq. I'll go with him."

Much nodded, and quickly moved over to where Robin's possessions lay, in a heap beside Marian's and the fire. He rapidly extricated their leader's weapons, bound together with thin cord. John took them from him, and shot Much and brief quizzical look. Much shrugged. "They were undercover. No weapons."

John nodded in acceptance, and took off after Robin, into the dark.

---------

"And then I said to him, 'I'm not bein' funny, but that ain't no dame', and he just looked at me, as if he was thinkin', 'What the…' " A chortle of laughter. "It was the _funniest_ thing I ever seen!"

Vaizey just stared at the happily blabbering outlaw. Sensing a break in the captive's chatter, he turned to Gisborne. Guy had the same bleak expression in his eyes. "Please kill me," he murmured, a stricken look plastered across his face.

The only thing Gisborne managed was a faint, "Guh."

Vaizey felt close to tears as the damn outlaw started up _again_.

---------

It was dark the next time the shadow-man looked up.

He had been so thoroughly absorbed—sickeningly absorbed—in what he'd been perusing that he'd completely lost track of time. He winced. _I _am _getting old. _

The door he'd been sat behind was quietly unlocked, and he slipped out, leaving the hemp hanging across the window. He needed to get out and into the forest before Hood and his friends did anything foolish.

_They can't know, _he reasoned with himself. _They don't know what this thing is – what it can do. _

But the only image in his mind was that of Lady Marian's face—terror written in her eyes—as the Sheriff and Gisborne forced that concoction down her throat, and blood faintly reddened her lips.

The shadow-man slipped out of the city walls and fled into the trees, leather-bound tome once more under his arm. There was only one thought running through his mind – an almost-afraid one at that: _What have they done to her? _He had not been scared for a long time—he had simply not cared, for a very long time—but this was as near as he had got since…

Well, since he'd managed to lose his soul.

---------


	8. Chapter 7: Dances

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

Sorry! Sorry! I'm a bit rubbish with updates, aren't I? But RL has been hectic, and my Muse was stolen by the X-Files and Doctor Who... On a side note - oh my God! Jack is the Face of Boe! is gobsmacked I love that show. And this one.

Anyway.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter: **Ash Light**, **Nicki1147**, **Kates Master**, **RixxiSpooks**, **herbblade**, **robin and marion forever**, **scorpiagirl93**, **--friendly-lunatic--**, **Humahumanukanukaupapa'a**, **MontyPythonFan**, **xforgottenxmemoriesx**, **Deb1**, **SophiaSilverCat**, **pixiespryte**, **butterflygoodbye**, **dumwolf16**, **DeanParker**, **AngelsShadow816**, **Elle**, **scully42** and **love-is-just-a-word**. You are all fantastic!

R&R is blessed to the Muse, and enjoy!

Fevered Dreams

_7 - Dances_

His vision was blurring, and he knew that wasn't a good thing.

There'd been a funny tickle at the corners of his eyes ever since he'd fled from the fire-lit camp in Sherwood, but he'd ignored it – forcing himself to go onwards. There was a member of his gang missing and _that _had to be his top priority – not the strange sensation creeping through his body, taking over his mind.

Grief and fear had to be ignored, for now.

So, as tears began to flood his hazel eyes, he swiped a sleeve fiercely across his face and refocused on Nottingham, feeling rather than hearing his companion come up from behind him.

"Robin." It was John.

The outlaw didn't turn back, not wanting commiserations and sympathy. Not wanting a lecture or merely a look from empathic eyes. That was something that he couldn't take right now.

"_Robin._" A large hand closed over his shoulder and spun him around. An expressionless face, surrounded by wild black hair, looked down at him, as a bundle of soft leather and hard wood was thrust into his grasp. He looked down, studying the familiar weapons in his hands.

And then back up at John, questioningly.

John smiled roughly down at him. "You can't rescue Allan unarmed," was his only comment.

A pathetic echo of the big man's smile filtered onto Robin's own lips. "No," he acquiesced, turning back to Nottingham. "I can't."

The pair of them loped off across the night-darkened grass, two friends with a mission.

---------

For the first time since he'd started his one-sided stream of inane babble, Allan began to get scared. He broke of his detailed narrative about an old friend's antics with a cockerel and narrowed his eyes at Vaizey.

The Sheriff narrowed his eyes back, fingering the blade that had just appeared in his hand.

Allan swallowed. "Not bein' funny, but you could have someone's eyes out with that," he croaked.

"Hmm, yes." Vaizey's eyes glittered. "That's the idea."

---------

The camp was quiet, the stillness broken only by the rustle of the undergrowth and the occasional murmur between the two conscious occupants.

Much and Djaq were crouched on either side of the deathly-pale Marian, conversing in whispers. Neither of them was quite sure _why _they were whispering, but it probably had something to do with the aura of loss that was slowly but surely descending over the encampment.

It was as if the world knew that someone was going to die, and was waiting for them, in premature mourning.

Much gently touched Marian's chill white cheek. "She looks so pale," he murmured, fear swimming in his eyes. "What's _wrong _with her?"

Djaq shook her head slowly. "I do not know. I know this is bad but… I just do not know."

Much looked up at the Saracen woman. "Do you think she is going to die?" he asked softly, pointedly.

Djaq avoided his gaze, studying the leaf litter under her knees and adjusting Marian's position on the soft earth. "I cannot say for certain," she finally said, "but there is nothing I can do for her. I do not know what is wrong with her, so there is no way for me to treat her."

"She can't die," Much said softly. "If she does, we'll lose Robin too."

Djaq sighed, reaching across to gently squeeze Much's shoulder. "I know."

He sighed, and reached up to rub at his forehead. "Why does this always happen to us?" he asked rhetorically. "It's always the good people who suffer."

Djaq smiled – an empty smile. "It's the price we pay," she answered quietly. "This was our choice. To leave our lives, our families and our loves, and come out to the forest." She dropped her touch from Much's shoulder. "We chose to follow Robin." Her gaze slid away from Much and to the four member of their little party, lying unconscious a few feet away. Her gaze filled with unnameable emotion. "And this is what we get."

---------

The corridors of Nottingham Castle were quiet this late at night, which Robin supposed was a good thing. If they had to avoid guards and servants at every corner it would be a hell of a lot harder to search for their missing comrade, he figured.

But still. The silence set him on edge, and what he really wanted to do was scream and scream until all the pain bottled up in his heart had been released. And then he wanted to kill Vaizey.

His hand flexed around the hilt of his sword, and he forced himself to let the weapon go. _Not now, _he told himself. _Find Allan. Get out. _Then _think about revenge. _

_Dungeons? _he mouthed to John, and the big man nodded.

The pair of them flitted off down the night-darkened stone hallways, moving in tandem, searching for their missing friend.

---------

"_Allan!_"

Robin dropped to his knees beside the cage, reaching through the bars to his fallen friend. Fear was scrawled across his expressive features. "Allan, can you hear me?" he hissed.

There was no answer. Robin exchanged a worried glance with John, standing guard beside the dungeon door. The outlaw leader turned back to the lone occupant of the cell. "_Allan! _Can you hear me?!"

A slight grin curved the other's battered features, his eyes shut. "Robin."

Robin sighed. For the briefest moment he'd feared the worst – the very worst. "I thought you were dead," he murmured, resting his forehead against the bars.

Allan let out a wheezy chuckle. "Takes me to get rid of me than that," he whispered.

A tendril of fear, abruptly coiled itself around Robin's stomach. He frowned, and snagged his fingers on the edge of Allan's shirt, tugging gently. "Allan?"

He didn't get an answer.

"Allan, what did he do to you?" Robin hissed, his hands beginning to shake.

Slowly, painfully, Allan rolled his head towards Robin, and opened his eyes. A tiny smile quirked his battered lips and he winced at the pain that tiny motion caused. "That."

Robin stared in shock and horror at the bloody mess that used to be Allan a Dale's left eye, and then spun aside as his stomach rebelled and he was violently sick.

Allan smiled tightly. "I think I pushed him a bit too far," he husked.

---------

A quiet chuckle reverberated around the clearing. "Wonderful guards you two are," a throaty voice commented, and Much and Djaq immediately sprang to their feet, weapons in hand.

"Who's there?" Much demanded, his hand shaking ever-so-slightly.

Another chuckle, but this one wasn't quite as genuine as the first. The shadows swirled, and suddenly there were five of them.

Djaq gasped, but Much was frozen – overcome by an overwhelming sense of familiarity. He frowned. "Who are you?"

A sigh. "The very same question your master asked me, all that time ago." A sigh, and then the shadow-man moved over to stand at Marian's feet, looking down at her. Much felt himself pinned beneath the intruder's invisible stare. "Has she drunk or eaten since this happened?"

"She's been unconscious," Much replied.

"Answer the question."

"No."

A sigh of relief. "Good."

Much frowned. "Why?"

"If she eats or drinks while this taint is within her, she will die."

Djaq surveyed the shadow-man keenly. "How do you know?" she asked sharply. "Do you know what is wrong with her?"

A soft laugh. "Of course."

Much tensed. "How?"

"Did you do this to her?" Djaq snapped, immediately fearful.

"No." A rustle of cloth, and then the shadow-man was on his knees beside Marian. A black-gloved hand reached out to touch her fingers – the same fingers that were slowly darkening, as if bruised. "I would not wish this fate on anyone."

"This fate?" Much echoed.

"If we do not stop her then, because of this, she will kill herself."

---------

Marian was dancing.

Her partner whirled her around in his arms, spinning her and revelling with her. The skirts of her silken dress swirled around her ankles, caught and ruffled by the playful breeze. The sun was shining and birds were singing softly in the leafy trees.

This was perfect, and she was happy.

Smiling radiantly, she looked up, into her partner's face – Robin of Locksley's dancing hazel gaze looked down at her, his lips curved into a smile meant only for her.

She smiled back, unwilling to break the calmness of the sunny day with her voice, and they danced on.

He spun her again, sending her away from him, just for a second. When she spun back into his arms, Robin was gone, and in his place was stood Guy of Gisborne, his face hard and unforgiving.

Her eyes went wide and she opened her mouth to scream his name – her love's name. But she made no sound. She couldn't speak. _Oh God, I can't speak! _She tried to pull away from Gisborne, but his gloved fingers tightened on her arms, digging into her pale flesh. Pain shot through her.

And still they didn't stop dancing.

_Robin! _she screamed inside her head. _Robin! Help me! _

She looked around frantically, searching for someone who could help her. And her breath caught in her throat as she saw them – stood side by side, watching her dance with Gisborne.

Robin. And her father.

_Help me! _she tried to scream to them. _I can't stop! Help me! _

But they just watched her, eyes cold and hard.

"They won't help you, Marian," Gisborne said, his grip on her arms tightening, drawing her gaze upwards. She felt sick. "They won't help you. You are mine."

_No! No, I won't let you! Let me _go! _Robin! Father! _Help me!

But still they danced on, feet treading the green grass, birds providing the music and the sun illuminating them in golden light.

Marian wanted to die.

---------


	9. Chapter 8: Disbelief

Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue.

Y'know, I think I've gone slightly nuts for whumpage... I think I'm mean. Again, sorry for the delay - I went to New Zealand. I have an excuse. Plus, who's read the new Harry Potter? How _amazing _is it? It stole my Muse! I'm writing HP fanfic! _What?! _

Anyway. Thanks to my beloved reviewers: **robin and marion forever**, **scully42**, **RixxiSpooks**, **AngelsShadow816**, **MontyPythonFan**, **scorpiagirl93**, **Capt. Cow**, **DeanParker**, **love-is-just-a-word**, **The viEns of hIStorY**, **funkyfairygirl**, **Ash Light**, **J.Svensson**, **Marjatta**, **practically nobody **(named the penguin yet?) and **summersparkle**. You all rock my world!

As ever, R&R is blessed to the Muse (hopefully I can stop her feeding off Harry Potter long enough to write for my other fandoms!), and enjoy!

Fevered Dreams

_8 - Disbelief_

"What d'you mean, 'she will kill herself'?" Much demanded, his fingers flexing in and out of an angry fist. "She's _not_ going to kill herself!"

A soft, pained chuckle in the cool air. "She will want to."

"But what do you mean?" Djaq asked, intently watching their shadowy companion. "What you say, it makes no sense!"

There was a sigh. "She is unconscious, yes?"

Djaq nodded, confused. "Yes, and we cannot wake her."

"No."

Djaq blinked in surprise. "What?" she asked, startled and indignant. "Of course we cannot wake her – we have tried _everything_!"

Much shook his head, so slowly. Understanding was gradually dawning, and it sickened him. "That's not what he means," he countered. "He means she's not unconscious." He could feel the shadow-man's unseen eyes upon him as horror began to creep into his heart.

"Much, I do not understand. Of _course _she is unconscious – what else could it be?"

"Don't you get it?" Much turned a suddenly-stricken gaze to Marian. "She's not unconscious. _She's_ _dreaming_."

---------

"Allan…" Robin's throat burned with the acidic aftertaste of vomit. "My God, Allan."

Dale's one remaining eye blinked slowly. "I'm not bein' funny," he rasped, "but are you gonna just sit there all day?"

The injured man's words snapped Robin out of his horrified stupor. "No." He pulled himself up to his feet, and studied the lock, more as a way to distance himself from the horrific wound on his friend's face. Short nails dug into palms as fists clenched. He turned. "John!" he called.

The big man briefly glanced away from the dungeon door.

"Key." Robin indicated the unconscious jailer at the big man's feet.

John nodded his agreement and, a rustle and a clink later, he tossed the bundle of keys to Robin, who was still trying not to look at Allan. "Hurry," he cautioned gruffly, before returning to his duty.

Robin found the key that fitted into the lock on Allan's cell and hauled the door open. He bent down, frantically quelling the protests of his rebellious stomach, and hauled Allan to his feet. "Can you walk?" he asked quietly.

"I can try."

Robin took at step forward, but Allan pulled him back. He glanced over at the jailer's bundle of keys, hanging from the door of his cell. "Take 'em with us," he advised. "It's a golden opportunity. We can use 'em for all sorts of things." His remaining eye gleamed.

"Allan…"

Allan smiled slightly, understanding Robin's reluctance. "What's an eye?" he said softly. "I've got another one. I'm still me, Robin. I'm still the same mischief-maker you saved from losin' his hand." He studied his leader's darkened eyes. "So take the damn keys."

Robin nodded and took the keys.

---------

With a satisfied sigh, Vaizey, swathed in velvet robes, sat down at his desk. He tapped a happy rhythm on the desktop with his blackened nails and he pondered his own extraordinary fortune.

_It's been a good night, _he thought happily. _An outlaw mutilated always makes me happy. _

He paused slightly at that thought, wondered if he should seek mental help, and then dismissed the fanciful notion.

After a moment's deliberation, he rose from his desk one more. He high-stepped cheerfully across his chambers and bent down beside an old, worn side-cabinet. A flicker of dread slipped across his face as he registered the fact that the cabinet was no longer locked.

_Oh… _

He yanked the oak door open. The cabinet was empty. His mouth hung open. "It's gone," he whispered slowly. The emptiness of the cabinet seemed to be mocking him – he slammed it shut and sprung to his feet.

_Hood!_

"_Gisborne!" _

---------

"What do you mean, 'she is dreaming'?" Djaq demanded.

Much was shaking his head in denial. "I've seen this before," he whispered. "Long ago."

"Much! Will you talk to me!"

He turned his gaze to her. "It was in the Holy Land," he managed, sorrow flooding his face. "We saw men, their flesh bruised like this—" He broke off, swallowing. "There was one," he continued slowly. "He slept in the fever-sleep for days, tossing and turning, moaning as he dreamt. It was agony to watch him…"

Much fell silent, lost in memory. Djaq leant forward and lightly touched his knee. "Much?"

"Then he woke up," Much continued, apparently unaware of her presence. "He woke up and didn't speak a word to the two of us—myself and Robin—in the room with him. He just… He just grabbed the knife that lay beside him, and…"

Djaq's fingers were pressed to her lips – he didn't need to continue. She understood.

Much shook his head. "We can't let that happen." He turned to the shadow-man, still crouched over Marian. "How can we heal her?"

There was a soft swish, almost like that of cloth, and a leather-bound tome appeared in the shadow-man's hand. The figure almost seemed to weigh the innocuous-looking book before he extended his arm to Much and Djaq, holding the pages out to them.

Glancing to Much, Djaq slowly reached out and took the book, a quizzical frown on her forehead. "What is this?"

"Something that never should have existed," came the shadow-man's reply.

---------

It was just as the three of them reached the tree line that angry shouts and the sound of marching feet came from Nottingham town.

Robin and John exchanged a charged look – Allan was busy just trying not to collapse from the pain and the exhaustion. "If they come into the forest we'll never get away," John said, voicing the unspoken.

"We'll just have to hope they don't come into the forest," Robin replied.

John snorted. "Hope. If we had a piece of the Sheriff's silver for every time I've heard the word 'hope'…"

Robin looked at him, and his eyes smiled. "Let's get moving," was his only response.

"And let's get moving _fast._"

---------

"Gisborne, find me Robin Hood."

If Guy didn't know better, he would have sworn, on his life and lands (not that he cared much about Locksley anyway), that Vaizey was sulking. "And how do you expect me to do that?" he asked. He added a belated, "My lord."

The Sheriff glared at him. "I don't know, Gisborne, and I don't care." He jumped to his feet and began to stalk angrily around the room. "I just want Robin Hood, tied hand and foot, in my dungeon."

"With all due respect, my lord, what happened to 'breaking Hood's heart'?" Gisborne inquired.

Vaizey rounded on Guy. "That piece of outlaw scum," he hissed, "has _stolen _my book. Stolen my book, Gisborne!"

Gisborne blinked slowly. "Stolen your book," he said.

"Yes, stolen my book!"

"It's a tragedy."

"Shut up!"

"Yes, my lord."

Vaizey began to pace again. "I want him _alive, _Gisborne," he hissed. "I want him to suffer. I want to give him a slow death. Slow and painful." He glanced absently at Gisborne. "And, if you do bring me Hood, I'll let you keep the girl." He frowned. "If she's still alive, that is."

Guy affected a small bow. "You are most kind, my lord."

"What_ever_."

---------

"Oh my God, _Allan!_"

Robin had never quite heard Much sound so horrified. He grinned at Allan's expressive eye-roll at Much's well-intentioned exclamation as he and John lowered Allan to the ground. "Djaq!" Robin called, straightening up. "Allan needs…" He trailed off as he saw a familiar shadow bent over Marian.

In a second he was at her side, defensiveness and possessiveness in his every movement. "Get away from her," he hissed.

The shadow-man shifted slightly, raising his head to Robin's eye-level. Robin was confronted by a pair of burning eyes, ethereally blue and full of anger. "I am trying to _save _her," came the hissed response. "I would have thought you would appreciate that."

"You killed her father. How do I know what you are trying to do?"

"Robin." It was Much, and he touched Robin's shoulder gently. "He's telling the truth."

"How do you know?"

"Because he knows what's happening to her."

It was the sickened look on Much's open features that drew Robin's attention, and he looked up at his friend with a growing sense of fear. "What _is _happening to her?" he ventured, not entirely sure if he wanted to know the answer.

Much was silent for a second. "Phillip," he said hoarsely.

"Phillip?"

"Phillip of Gardstone," Much completed. "In the Holy Land."

Robin frowned for a second more, and then he remembered.

—_the cry of agony as the half-blunted blade stabbed down, again and again, guided by the dying man's hand—_

Horror spread across his face. "That's not funny, Much," he whispered.

"That would be why I'm not laughing," Much answered, and Robin could see the tears in his friend's eyes. Much knelt down beside Robin and lightly touched Marian's limp hand, fleshed bruised purple and black. "See? It's exactly the same."

"But…" Robin was shaking his head, unwilling to admit it. "No. No, it's not true."

"Robin…"

"_No!_" All eyes were on him now as he screamed his denial. The outlaw was bent over Marian, his eyes full of angry tears. He stroked her hair with shaking fingers. "I will not lose her again," he whispered.

He leaned down and touched his forehead to hers. _I will not lose you now. _

---------

"My lord!" The tracker turned around, his fingertips lightly dusted with dirt, and looked up to Gisborne, mounted on his horse. "I believe I have found a trail," he said.

A smile flickered at the corner of Gisborne's lips. "The outlaws' trail?"

The tracker turned back around and crouched beside the same patch of dirt. "They were careless, my lord," he said distractedly. "Three men – two supporting the other." His fingers pressed to the dirt, coming up with just the faintest hint of red. "And there is blood." He looked up, a vaguely owlish expression on his face. "Is that them?"

The smile spread. "I believe so."

The tracker stood and pointed into the forest. "The trail leads that way. Into Sherwood."

Guy of Gisborne brought his steed's head swinging round and spurred the animal on, into the forest. The smile had fully taken hold of his thin lips now, but it wasn't a happy smile – malice and hate was spread across his face.

_You're done for now, Hood. _

---------


End file.
